Mixed Blood
by Ami Meitsu
Summary: One morning, a woman shows up at the Brownstone. Now, Joan's never met this woman before, yet, she seems...familiar and she brings with her secrets about Joan's family history that provides potentially vital information about her identity.


_**Mixed Blood **_

_**A/N: **__Okay, so I'm supposed to get back to another story, but this plot bunny wouldn't leave me alone. Also, this story has a slightly confusing touch of Irene. Why? Because, I mixed this with my Elementary story-verse, where Irene was let go on a plea bargain with the conditions she join and consult with the police on high-profile cases and stay under Sherlock's watch. But, she's not important here anyway, as the story is about Joan, obviously. It's a really quick, really small story without too much detail, but that's how I wanted, as I didn't want to draw it out, and figured that it wasn't in Joan's character to do so either after learning the truth. So…Enjoy, and maybe review? Please?_

* * *

Joan let out an absentminded sigh and ran a hand through her hair as she flipped through her and Sherlock's latest case on her bedroom floor early one morning. She had just about cracked her new lead when a loud knock entered her thoughts.

'_Sherlock can get it,' _She decided, opening another of the many folders next to her, stopping when the noise continued. With a frustrated sigh, she stood and headed downstairs, wondering why Sherlock had let it go on for long, her question being answered by an audible scream of ecstasy emitting from Irene's room across the kitchen. She simply rolled her eyes as she pulled at the locks, opening the door to reveal an older, Asian woman with long hair pulled into a rather messy bun and dark eyes that Joan felt were familiar. Her clothes indicated a decent income was being earned, with the black, dress skirt and mid-priced, white blouse.

"Um…Hi?" Joan said, feeling slightly off at the sight of this woman whom she had never met before but yet, seemed familiar. "Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for Joan Watson."

"That would be me."

"I thought so," The woman said, her face breaking into a warm smile as she set gentle hands on Joan's shoulders, eyes roaming over every inch, but not in an unpleasant way, in more of a semimetal way as she took her in. Lightly curled, dark hair, and eyes that matched her own, dressed in a black skirt and printed top accessorized with a matching, black cardigan, stockings and for the moment, slippers since she intended to spend the morning at home. "Look at you, Joanie. You're _gorgeous_. So much like me."

"I'm sorry for asking, but…should I know you?" Joan asked as she backed out of reach.

"Of course you wouldn't remember…" The woman shook her head. "I'm your mother."

"Wait…_What?_"

"Watson!" Sherlock called as finally emerged, pulling on a shirt as he crossed the lounge. "I think I may have…" He trailed off at the sight of the two women at the door, the obvious question hanging in the air.

* * *

Awhile later, when things had settled down and tea had been served, everyone sat in the lounge, Sherlock and Joan taking the sofa while the woman took the arm chair and Irene flipped through her own case on the floor near the sofa, ignoring the situation.

"I don't know where to start…" The woman said.

"You could start by introducing yourself," Joan suggested.

"Right…I'm Bridgette. Bridgette _Watson_."

"That doesn't mean we're related," Joan pointed out. "Besides I know who my mother is, and she's not you."

"Actually, it is viable," Sherlock said as he stood. "Have you ever stopped to notice that you don't particularly look like your mum? Of course, you have your typical features showing relation, but your appearance and this woman's extend far beyond that. Note not only the hair and eye match, but you have just about the same build, hers extended from age and possibly children, then there's the facial structure, which on you, Watson is slightly off, but still similar, indicating a mix of, if she is your mother, her and your father. One must also note…"

"Sherlock," Joan held her hand up to silence him. "I get it. We look alike. But, it still doesn't mean anything. There are plenty of people who are unrelated, yet look alike. And, we still haven't covered the major question. If you're my mom, then who's my father and where is he?"

"Your father's name was Kenneth. He was a good man, always wanted the best for you. He had all of these plans laid out and made it a point to always put you first. You were…"

"Wait…Were? What? Did he just stop caring at some point?"

Bridgette shook her head. "No, he…he was killed in a car crash when you were three. He was on his way to work, early as always and was crossing an intersection when he was t-boned by a drunk driver. After that, your aunt and uncle took you in, as I just couldn't handle it. Not by myself."

"In other words, she was adopted," Irene noted absentmindedly.

At that, Joan slammed her teacup down and simply stood, earning shocked looks from everyone in the room. "_NO_." She snapped. "You're lying. You have to be."

"I wish I was, but…"

"No. No one gives up their child and then shows up thirty years later to reclaim them…Unless they want something. What is it? Money? Love? Murder?"

"No. It's my daughter…My third one and your half sister. She went missing a few days ago and I thought you could help."

"And how did you know who I was and what I did for a living?"

"I didn't…Not really. I've kept tabs on you for years, but I was actually seeking out Mr. Holmes. Imagine my surprise to find out his partner was my lost, eldest daughter, whom I hoped to reconnect with."

"No," Joan shook her head. "I'm sorry, but I don't know you and you are not my mother. You're just a woman with a crazy story," She snapped before stomping from the room and up the stairs, throwing herself on her bed once she entered her room. With a long sigh, she flipped over onto her back and simply stared upwards, her mind caught into two places. The first one telling her that it was all a lie, but the other telling her to consider it. There was no viable explanation for why someone would show up on the doorstep with such a story, then again, there was also no viable explanation of why someone would give up their child and return so far into their life. She stopped for a moment, analyzing everything in her mind, going over past memories and the like. Bridgette had said her father was killed when she was three, which of course, she wouldn't remember. Then there was the severe lack of baby pictures in her parent's house, which she had always wondered about, but figured it was simply because of the challenges of raising two kids only two years apart. Plus, why would her family hide it from her? What was the big issue? If they truly loved her, then they would have told her the truth…At least, that's what she thought.

'_There has to be more to this…' _She thought, again sighing as she sat, picked up her mobile and dialed her mother.

* * *

They agreed to meet at a small, casual café for lunch, Joan allowing Sherlock to take over the case fully for the day as she mulled over the events that had happened just hours before. After leaving the lounge, she stayed upstairs until Bridgette left, refusing to face her again until she knew the truth.

"It's rare that you call me," Her mother, Mary, said as soon as they had ordered. "Is something wrong?"

"I'm not sure," Joan admitted. "It depends on how you react to what I'm about to ask you."  
"Alright," Mary simply nodded.

"Was I adopted?"

At that, her mother stopped, wondering why she was asking now, and how she knew. They had been so careful…Finally, she closed her eyes and nodded. "How?" She asked.

"A woman came to the Brownstone this morning. And from your reaction, I assume you know where this is going. She said her name was Bridgette and that she gave me up after my father died."

"Is that what she said?" Mary scoffed. " She's always been such a liar."

"What?"

"She didn't give you up, Joan. She _lost custody_ to your father and I shortly after the accident."

* * *

_**About thirty years prior **_

"Finally beat my personal best," Samuel Watson said as he entered the flat after his usual run one summer morning.

"How long has it been now?" Mary said as she handed over a water bottle.

"Awhile."

She stifled a laugh, and turned back to the plates she was preparing. "Oren!" She called. "Time for breakfast."

In a little less than a minute, she heard the familiar clunk of her five-year-old son's sneakers as he ran into the kitchen.

"Don't run," She chided as he sat down and she handed over his green, lidded tumbler, followed by his breakfast plate.

"There's green things in my eggs," He complained.

"Those are peppers and they're good for you," She explained as the phone rang and Samuel answered. "And yes, you have to eat it all."

"I don't like peppers," Oren pouted.

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do!"

"_Quiet_," Samuel ordered, his expression solemn. "Right…I understand…" He said before hanging up and motioning for Mary to follow him.

"It's my brother," He said.

"Is he alright? Has something…?"

"He's dead."

"Oh, Samuel I…"

"Don't. I'm upset of course, but the issue goes far beyond his death. His daughter may be in trouble," He explained, heading off to make far more than a few necessary calls, finding himself with a social worker and lawyer in his lounge two weeks later.

"Her name is Joan," The social worker explained, handing over a photo of a little girl in a blue dress, her long hair pulled out of her face.

"I'm confused. What exactly is the problem? She has a mother, doesn't she?" Mary asked, having not been given any straight answers since that fateful call.

"Barely," The social worker continued. "She's been struggling with addiction for years and holds three drunk driving arrests, two of which occurred when Joan was in the car with her."

Samuel simply shook his head. He had told his brother that his wife was bad news since the first date, but he hadn't listened. He had resorted to ignoring it, and in turn, cut off contact with his brother a year ago, now regretting it as he paced the room.

"And how are their living conditions?"  
"They're alright for now, but now that Kenneth is gone, she's going to lose income. In fact, they're slated to be evicted from their apartment in a month due to unpaid bills."

"What about the insurance?"

"Most of it went to pay for the funeral and debts that she racked up over the years."

"We need to get her out before it's too late," Samuel decided. "I know that the will dictated that care would fall only to us if both parents passed away, but I don't think this is what Kenneth would want," He turned to the group. "I want custody of Joan. Full custody, which I'm sure is doable with the circumstances."

The lawyer nodded and they immediately got to work, the trial being scheduled quicker than usual to avoid a long wait and leaving Joan in care for too long after the eviction.

"Is it true that you've had three DUIs in the past year?" Samuel's lawyer asked as Bridgette sat in the witness stand.

"Yes."

"Two of which were gained while Joan was with you?"

"The first time, she needed stitches."

"Why?"

"She slipped and fell on the playground and knocked her head on a bench."

"And the second time?"

"It was…after a party. Kenneth was on a business call and I had to pick her up from daycare."

"And you were an hour late doing so."

"I made a mistake!"

"No, you didn't."

"Objection!" Bridgette's lawyer said.

"Overruled," The judge ordered.

"You forgot about her until someone called you, because you were too busy drinking to care. According to our notes, you always have been. You've been in and out of rehab twice since your daughter was born, but it doesn't seem to help any."

"I'm doing better now!"

"Then explain the bills. The ones for liquor that were supposed to pay for your apartment that you've recently been evicted from."

"Well…I…I was stressed and…My husband just _died_!"

"_Objection_,"

"No. It's fine. No Further questions" Samuel's lawyer backed off and sat down, her point made.

The trial went on for two more days with both houses and conditions being evaluated in the process, along with the state of health of both parents before a ruling was made on the final, slated day.

"In the case of Samuel and Mary Watson versus Bridgette Watson, this court finds in favour of the plaintiff, Samuel Watson, as it would cause undo harm to pull a child from state care and place her in an environment that is unstable at best. This court recognizes that Bridgette Watson has raised her daughter for three years, however we cannot overlook her substance abuse problems and disregard for the child's safety. Therefore, the custody of Joan Annalise Watson is to be transferred to the plaintiff and his family, with her arriving at week's end. Case dismissed."

"_What_? NO!" Bridgette whined. "You can't do that! She's already lost her father! I'm all she has! She _needs _me! You can't do this to _me_!" She practically sobbed as everyone filed out of the room. "Mary! You understand, don't you? You're a mother too!"

They simply ignored her as they headed out, Mary thinking that, while she _did _understand to a point, she also knew what was best for the child, who was brought over to their flat only a few days later, looking utterly frightened and confused as she clutched a pink teddy bear that matched the colour of her outfit-a light-pink top with a floral printed white skirt, her hair tied up in messy pigtails with flower ponytails that matched the style of those on her skirt.

"Hi, Honey. Come on in," Mary said gently, carefully taking Joan's hand as she led her in, the social worker following.

"I'm your Mommy now, and this is your Daddy," She continued, pointing out Samuel as she spoke.

"We love you," Samuel said. "And we're glad you're here."

Joan simply stared up at them, her dark eyes full of confusion as she looked around. The place was new and different, and not home. Her home had a different mommy and daddy…At least, she used to have a daddy. All she knew is that he just disappeared one day and then, mommy followed, leaving her with strange people in suits, followed by some other people who had more kids and now, these strangers who looked like her, and were telling her that they loved her. She then looked past them to the doorway, where a confused Oren stood, watching, waiting.

Following Joan's gaze, Mary turned behind her and smile at her son, soon heading over and taking his hand. "Come here. Come meet your new sister," She encouraged as she led him over, "Oren, this is Joanie," She explained.

"Joanie, Oren."

Oren simply gave a small wave as Joan shuffled her feet and looked around again.

_**Three Months Later**_

Though she had little to say in the first few weeks after arriving, Joan adjusted and her parents found that she was a rather inquisitive child. She was always asking questions, wanting to know how things worked and why they did what they did. She got on well with her brother, for the most part. Once he realised that she wasn't going anywhere, he stopped being unnecessarily nice, his parents figuring that it was simply a sibling thing.

"_Oren_, _Joan,_ breakfast!" Mary called one morning, soon hearing not only Oren's loud steps, but the soft shuffle of slippers on the floor behind him. "No running," She chided Oren as she picked Joan up. "Good morning, Honey," She said, ending with a kiss on her cheek as she helped her into her seat, as they had found that Joan was rather small for her age, and often needed help at the table.

"Alright, here's your purple one," She said as she set a purple tumbler in front of Joan. "And your green one." She set Oren's in front of him and his eyes fell instead to the other cup.

"I want the purple one!" He said, quickly grabbing Joan's cup.

"No, Honey. The purple one is Joanie's, remember?" Mary quickly took it from him as Samuel stepped into the kitchen. At that, she turned to him, gesturing for him to help as she headed back to the counter to grab the breakfast plates.

"But I want it!" Oren grabbed it again and Joan pulled back.

"I want it!" She argued.

"I want it!" He said back, as they started a tug-of-war. Oren not understanding why he didn't always get what he wanted anymore, and Joan simply exercising authority over what was supposed to be _her_ cup.  
"No!" Joan snapped, pulling back just as hard as he had.

"_Yes_!" Oren snapped as he finally pried it from her hands, his own flinging upward and loosing grip on the tumbler, which hit the floor with a loud "bang." The cup breaking open with the impact and the space soon filling with apple juice as Joan cried.

"_Oren_!" Samuel snapped.

"She did it!" He argued, pointing to his wailing sister.

"No, she didn't," His father argued as he took his arm and led him away from the table, leaving his wife to deal with his daughter for the moment.

Soon, Oren found himself in his timeout corner, facing the wall for five minutes as his mother cleaned up the mess and then handed the cup over to Samuel, who quickly washed it and replaced the juice before giving it back to a whimpering Joan.

"Oh, hush, Joanie," He ordered, giving her a kiss on the head as he set the tumbler down. "It's not the end of the world."

It was a few minutes before she finally quieted and Oren was brought back to the table so that they could have breakfast before going about the day, Samuel heading off to work while Mary ran errands with the kids, the day being her day off. She ran over the list in her head, soon turning to her kids, Oren insistent on picking the "green things" out of his eggs and Joan frowning and picking at hers due to the lack of cheese, which they were out of for the moment, giving a small smile to them both.

* * *

"Why didn't you tell me?" Joan asked once her mother finished the story.

"Being honest, we kind of…forgot. From the day you came to live with us, we thought of you as our own. Of course, it was always in the back of our minds, but we felt no need to define you or your status in the family by it…So, it just kind of…Slipped all of our minds," Mary explained.

"Oh my god," Joan shook her head.

"Please don't be mad."

"I'm not mad…How can I be? You were only doing what you thought was right. And, it wouldn't be right for me to blow up at you when I'm beyond grateful for what you did and how you raised me all of these years. If anything, I should be mad at _her_. Did she ever try and contact you? Ever ask about me?"

Mary shook her head. "After the adoption was finalized we never heard from her again. Word is that she left the state and went into another rehab programme."

"But, she said she was 'keeping tabs' on me…"

"If she was, I didn't know anything about it. Your father would have done something if we did. He was always so worried about you and about her coming back and taking you. Did she say why she's resurfaced after _so_ long?"

"She said something about her daughter—not me—going missing and that she wanted Sherlock to help, her finding out about me was just an addition to her seeking him out. I guess she figured that since it happened, she may as well try and reconnect."

"Do you want that?"

"No. Not after what happened. It just…wouldn't feel right. She didn't care all those years ago, so, why should she now? I'm thinking she's only asking because of some sort of guilt from finally finding me after all this time."

"And you're sure you don't want to at least give her a chance?" Mary asked, granted she wouldn't ever do so herself, but also didn't want to taint Joan's own opinion and opportunity to dig into her past if she so chose.

"I'm sure. She's a mess, Mom. You know that, and I'm not being dragged into fixing her problems. She left me when I was three. I have no connection to her at all beyond DNA, nor do I want one. Besides, if she really cared, she would have tried harder to stay sober," Joan explained, stopping once she was finished at the sound of her mobile going off. "Sorry," She told her mother, who simply shrugged it off as she glanced at the message and found an address. "I have to go. But, thank you." At that, she stood and began to gather her things, soon fumbling with her wallet.

"For what?" Mary asked.

"For telling me," Joan replied, setting half of the bill on the table.

"Don't," Her mother insisted. "I've got it."

"No. I want to…"

"I've got it," Mary insisted, quickly handing the money over, which Joan took with a huff before heading out the door and to the mentioned address, which turned out to be a small, first floor flat _and_ the home of Bridgette.

"You actually took this on?" Joan snapped to Sherlock as they walked the perimeter, soon heading into the mentioned daughter's room.

"I figured no harm would be done in humouring her. Besides, I was curious about her _and_ your past. Even after all my research; this one small detail seemed to escape me."

"I wouldn't call it small," She muttered as Sherlock glanced about the room, Bridgette lingering in the doorway as his gaze fell to the window. "You're on the ground floor, so there would be no harm in jumping from this window," He noted as he studied it, taking a close look at the crack between the window and sill. "It appears that it's been opened recently, but not closed all the way, strange considering in most kidnapping cases, the window is simply left open and abandoned, as it would take too much time to close it when one is fighting with the victim and trying to avoid suspicion. Also, there is no sign of a struggle anywhere. The bed is perfectly made and everything else is clean and in place. I find it hard to believe that anyone could simply snatch a sixteen-year-old from her room in the middle of the night and leave no trace of it."

"What was left behind?" Joan asked, knowing exactly where this was going. "Any notes? A phone?"

"Um…No. I couldn't even find Mia's phone when I looked earlier."

"Strange that a girl being kidnapped would have time to even think of grabbing her mobile, plus there's this half-open drawer here," Joan noted as she made her way to the drawer and pulled it open. "All of these clothes are in a disarray." She opened the one below it. "As are these, and, I would guess all the other drawers, as if someone rifled through them in a hurry. Now, this could just be a sign of untidiness…Except for the fact that all the drawers were closed to make everything appear normal."

"Now, riddle me this, Ms. Watson," Sherlock turned to Bridgette. "You think she was kidnapped, yet, why would a kidnapper ever want to locate and take the victim's mobile and clothes, and then, remember to close the window after that. Answer? They wouldn't."

"What?" Bridgette asked.

"Your daughter wasn't kidnapped. She ran away of her own free will."

"Why would she do that?"

Sherlock shrugged. "That, I cannot tell you. But, what I can tell you is that this case is now closed," He said as he left the room, Joan following close behind.

"What now?" Bridgette demanded.

"If you want Mia back, you're going to have to contact the police," Joan informed her. "There's nothing else we can legally do about it."

"Wait a moment, Joanie," Bridgette said, grabbing her arm as she turned to leave.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't call me that," Joan replied.

"I know it seems like a lot to take in, me just coming out of the blue like this, but…I really want to give this a chance."

"I'm sorry but, don't think I can."

"Oh, well…If you change your mind," Bridgette said, handing over a piece of paper with a number scrawled on it that Joan simply shoved into her coat's pocket to be forgotten about for days as she worked through cases, and ran over her own personal situation in her head several times over, calling both her father and brother later in the week to discuss the issue with them, keeping in mind Bridgette's offer and the piece of paper that burned her every time she slipped on the jacket she left it in, until, finally after weeks of mulling it over and many a conversation with her family members, she finally dialed the number, agreeing to meet her for breakfast early one morning.

"Part of me was worried that you wouldn't show," Bridgette said as Joan slid in the diner booth across from her.

"I don't make promises I can't keep," Joan said, simply, coolly.

They then sat in silence awhile, Bridgette breaking it as soon as they had ordered, Joan opting only for a coffee, as she didn't plan to be in the place longer than the time it took for the beverage to be prepared and ingested.

"So…Tell me about yourself, Joan. Where have these past few years taken you?"

"Don't do that."

"What?"

"Act like we're friends, because we're not."

"I just want to give this a chance."

"And what exactly is this?" Joan asked, nodding in thanks to the waitress who set a coffee cup in front of her.

"Us. The relationship we could have. I want to get to know you Joan. I mean, I did miss out on your whole life."

"If it was really that important, why didn't you ever try and contact me or my parents? Why didn't you ask questions? Send gifts? A card? _Anything_?"

"After I lost you…I was devastated. I used what remained of the money and tried another out-of-state rehab programme and I got better. I thought about coming for you, I did…But then, I got involved with someone. It didn't last long, only a few months, but enough to leave me with another child, your eldest half-sister. And, as you figured there were two more. It's almost like I traded one drug for another. Alcohol for short, stringy relationships that did nothing but cause unnecessary relapses."

"It's because you're weak. You let your emotions control you, and when that happens you drink, and when you drink it seizes control," Joan said. "I don't remember anything about you, but my father filled in some holes. Apparently I was forgotten more than once at babysitters and daycare because you were busy partying."

"I know, I made some mistakes, but…"

"Stop. I don't want to hear it," Joan said as she stood. "Yes, you're human and humans make mistakes, but you…You just kept falling farther and farther. You wanted everything to just fall into place, and it never did, but then again, you never did anything to fix the problem either. If there's one thing I hate, it's people like you. People who claim to want out, but really don't."

"_Joan_…Don't do this…I'm your _mother_."

"Giving birth to me, doesn't make you my mother. My mother, my _real_ mother is the one who took me in when you couldn't handle it. The one who made me feel welcome and treated me no different than any other kid. She praised me when I passed tests and punished me when I pulled my brother's hair. She fed me and clothed me and took care of me every day…You didn't. But, if there's one thing I could thank you for, it's running away. Who knows what kind of mess I would have been in if you had stayed? I don't want to know. As of this day forth, I don't want any further dealings with you. I don't want to see you, hear you, anything. I appreciate your telling me the truth about my past…But you know what? It doesn't matter. What matters is that my parents love me and cherish me as if I was their own. And, as far as I'm concerned, I am. They're my family and you…Well, you're just the woman who looked after someone's kid for three years," Joan said, turning to leave as soon as she said her peace.

Though she had been lost at first, and a bit angry, over the past few weeks she came to realise that all she had said was true. It didn't matter if her parents weren't by blood, or that her biological mother was a hot mess, what mattered is that someone had opened their arms to her when she was little and given her the chance that she deserved. Those people…They were her family-through thick and thin, even with the mixed blood in between.


End file.
